


Pinky Promise

by SabakuLotus



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2D is an emotional drunk, Alcohol, Cigarettes, Gen, Reader is also an artist, but it could be read as romantic as well i suppose, club, gender neutral reader, help him, mentions of Murdoc but he's not actually in it, this is meant to be a platonic interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 20:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16436117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabakuLotus/pseuds/SabakuLotus
Summary: You go out to a club with your friends against your will and end up having a very unexpected interaction with a man outside.





	Pinky Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t really think about what phase I exactly wanted this to be set in when inspiration hit, so I suppose it could be set in any phase, except Plastic Beach because in that case this story wouldn’t make much sense. It kind of gives off Phase 4 vibes though I suppose. Also, 2D is probably going to be very slightly OOC, mostly because this is the first time I’m writing his character but my excuse is that he’s drunk and he’s not going to be himself. One last thing, this is kind of a bit of a vent fic but I tried to write it in a way that everyone could read and enjoy it.

Tonight was supposed to be fun for you. Your friends had all managed to drag you out of the house and take you to a local club. You were having another one of your “episodes” and they decided the best thing would be to go out, get wasted, and maybe find someone to come home with you. While you appreciated their concern, you really wish they would have just left you alone about it. Sure, you enjoyed going out any chance you got to but tonight wasn't the best night to do, well, anything.

 

As expected you ended up sitting at the bar alone, your first drink still only half empty in front of you, watching as your friends danced around and got completely trashed. You just weren't feeling it tonight. As you looked around, you seemed to be harshly judging every little thing you saw. The people, the lights, the music, even the alcohol, everything seemed to disgust you in some way. You sighed to yourself and turned your attention back to the booth which you sat in. You managed a little smile as you looked down at the sketchbook that lie closed on the table. Adorned with little stickers and decorations that brought you comfort in your current situation. You had decided to bring your sketchbook with you in case the night didn't go as your friends wanted it to (which it didn't, and you were aware of that from the beginning). Taking one last disinterested look around, you downed the rest of your drink, grabbed your sketchbook, and headed out towards the back of the club to go outside. You figured you could probably get some inspiration from something out there. 

 

The autumn air was refreshing, a bit cold, but refreshing compared to the air inside the club. It had gotten pretty dark out but you supposed the lights of the city would be sufficient enough for you to at least get some decent sketches done. You took a seat near the back door, making sure the ground was suitable first, and opened up your sketchbook to a blank page. You looked around, mind completely blank with no idea of what to draw. You tapped the eraser end of your pencil against the blank sheet of paper on your lap waiting for something to come to mind. You settled on simply drawing a few buildings in the distance. Just as your pencil met with the paper, the back door to the club swung open. At first you thought it might have been one of your friends coming to look for you, but instead it was a complete stranger. 

 

He stumbled past the doorway, clearly heavily intoxicated, and stood against the wall on the opposite side of the door from you. He didn't seem to notice you sitting there at all, which you honestly didn't mind, the whole point of going outside wasn't so you could be noticed. You stayed still and watched the man fumble around in his pockets, pulling out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, quickly plucking one from the pack and lighting it up. As you were watching him, you noticed he had blue hair and what looked like pitch black eyes. You couldn't really tell if they just appeared that way because of the dim lighting or if he actually had pitch black eyes. As you observed this man you felt like you recognized him from somewhere but you couldn’t place your finger on it. Regardless, he somehow intrigued you, he was definitely an odd looking fellow, but you supposed that's what intrigued you so much. Suddenly, the man sighed heavily and slid down to the ground pulling his knees to his chest and dropping his half smoked cigarette in front of him. He immediately began sobbing and clutching onto his hair in what seemed like frustration. You felt conflicted at this point. Part of you wanted to just back away slowly and pretend you didn’t just witness some drunk stranger having a mental breakdown. But another part of you sympathized and felt bad for him because you often found yourself in the exact same position he was currently in. Against your better judgement, you slowly rose to your feet, slid your sketchbook under your arm, and approached the man, kneeling by his side and hesitantly placing a hand on his shaking shoulder. 

 

Before you were able to say a word, the man jolted and whipped his head up giving you a startled look. You could now clearly see he did in fact have completely black eyes, which honestly startled  _ you _ a bit making you jolt and withdraw your hand. The man stared at you for a few seconds before sighing in relief. 

 

“Bloody ‘ell, ‘fought you were someone else at first.” he slurred, quickly moving to wipe the tears away from his eyes and face. 

 

“Sorry, I--” You began, the man cut you off.

 

“You want my autograph or som’fing, right?” he uttered, you gave him a confused look and briefly wondered if he was some kind of celebrity but shrugged it off.

 

“No I just, I was sitting over there and I saw you started crying and--” he cut you off again.

 

“You were out ‘ere the whole time?” He questioned, giving you a look of shock and confusion. You nodded in response. The man rested an elbow on his knee, running his hand through his hair and looking down at his lap puzzled. “I never noticed.” 

 

“That’s okay, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” You told him. The man looked back at you, clutching his hands over where his heart would be and gave you a smile, tears forming at his eyes again. 

 

“Aww, ‘at’s so nice o’ you.” He said, you had to bite back a chuckle at how unexpected that response was. But then again, he  _ was  _ wasted.

 

“Thank you.” Was the only appropriate response you could think to give him. He glanced to your arm and noticed the sketchbook that had been tucked away there.

 

“Wha’s in ‘ere?” He asked, completely ignoring your concern for his well being and gesturing to your sketchbook. You honestly had completely forgotten you had that with you and you felt a bit of self consciousness rise in your chest. You glanced down and shrugged.

 

“Just some drawings.” You told him. 

 

“Really? You an artist then?” He questioned, suddenly seeming really interested. You shrugged again.

 

“Not really, I just draw things.” You answered.

 

“Makes you an artist to me, mind if I ‘ave a look?” He asked, holding out his hand expectantly. To be honest, you didn’t like people seeing inside your sketchbook. There wasn’t anything to hide in particular, it’s just you weren’t confident in your skills one bit. Constantly over-criticizing yourself and wishing you could be better than you were currently (which, to you, wasn’t possible). You were especially sensitive about it today. That’s the whole reason your friends dragged you out to this club in the first place. Still, you didn’t want to make this man upset again so you hesitantly handed it over, refusing to look at him as he flipped through the pages. Inside there were various random drawings of animals, landscapes, people, and even fictional characters, some of which you designed yourself. 

 

You fully expected him to cringe and maybe even laugh at your drawings but instead, he was actually impressed with them. 

 

“You go’ some real talent ‘ere, you know ‘at?” He told you, returning your sketchbook to you. You were a bit flattered by his compliment but yet you found it hard to believe you had anything close to “talent”. 

 

“I don’t know about that.” You mumbled. 

 

“Trust me, I go’ a good eye fo’ talent,” he paused, “actually, bo’f my eyes are pre’y horrible, I fell in love with a bloody hatstand once, ‘fought it was a woman.”  

 

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, you wondered if that was true or not but you didn’t question him about it. However, you were quite curious about his eyes. You can’t remember ever coming into contact with anyone who had eyes like his.

 

“How come your eyes are like that? If you don’t mind me asking.” You debated asking that, but curiosity got the better of you. His face turned to an expression of discontent and he hesitated to answer. 

 

“Some bloke hit me in the face with his car.” He replied. You weren’t expecting an answer like that, but now that he mentions it, you do briefly remember your friends talking about that happening once. You don’t remember any details though, like who was involved and whatnot, you weren’t really paying attention to the conversation at the time. You almost wondered if this was the man they were talking about, but the subject seemed to be a bit upsetting to him right now, so you dropped it. While you were briefly lost in your thoughts he had lit up another cigarette and was now offering you one, holding the carton open in front of you. While it was tempting you politely declined his offer. The both of you sat in silence for a bit, listening to the sounds of the city. As chaotic as it was around you, somehow you felt at peace just sitting here in his presence. You didn’t feel pressured to talk or do anything you didn’t want to do. It was a very odd situation, sure, but part of you was glad that you decided to talk to him. 

 

After getting lost in your thoughts again, you decided to go back to what you were doing before, the man beside you seemed okay at least for now. You were nervous to draw in front of someone else, but since he was drunk and apparently half blind, you reassured yourself that anything you drew would be okay, even if only in his opinion. You opened your sketchbook and took out your pencil locating the buildings you were previously set on drawing. Just like before, the second your pencil met with the paper the man beside you interrupted.

 

“You take requests?” He asked, tossing his now finished cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out with the bottom of his lighter. You absolutely hated when people asked you to draw something because nine times out of ten they wanted you to draw them. Still, you were curious if he would be typical or not.

 

“What did you have in mind?” You inquired. He gave you a smile and took some time to think for a moment. 

 

“A hoard of zombies.” He said. You blinked a few times, once again not expecting that response. You found it interesting though, you don’t think you’ve ever drawn a zombie before.

 

“How about just one zombie?” You told him, already beginning to sketch it out.

 

“Wi’f an axe lodged in ‘is head.” He added, you nodded as you continued to build the figure of the zombie. As the zombie slowly came into fruition, you and he (well, mostly you since you were the only one drawing) would add more and more details, such as a missing lower jaw, no legs, hair only on the opposite side of where the axe was lodged, anything you two found amusing or interesting. He even suggested super specific details like a broken nose, sharp teeth and an “off brand Beatles haircut” as he put it. Before you knew it, the drawing was completed. You looked to the man next to you for some sort of reaction. He looked down at the drawing, a wide, almost mischievous smile strewn across his face. 

 

“‘At’s wicked, it looks jus’ like Mu’doc, only wi’f less body parts.” He told you. You weren’t sure if that was a compliment or not but you decided to take it as one. 

 

You weren't quite sure who exactly Murdoc was but you could've sworn you've heard the name somewhere before, it sounded very very familiar. As you signed your name and date in the corner of the page you stared at the picture you had just drawn. The dismembered creature on the page in front of you also looked oddly familiar, albeit a lot more gory. You pondered about it for a few seconds and almost had a realization before someone interrupted, this time it wasn't the man beside you but one of your drunk friends who had been coming out the door. You assumed they were probably looking for you but before you could say a word they gasped loudly.

 

“Oh my god!” They exclaimed, “You're 2D from Gorillaz aren't you?!” 

 

That's when everything clicked in your head and hit you like 5 tons of bricks. You almost thought you were dreaming as you looked between 2D and your friend rapidly. Granted, things slipped your mind from time to time,  but how in the hell could you not recognize someone like him right away?! Especially after him unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) making you draw a zombie version of one of his band mates! 2D chuckled at your friend and gave them a nod.

 

“Yeah, tha’s me, who are you?” 2D asked, at that moment your friend looked like they were either going to faint or spontaneously combust. You couldn't blame them, you probably would've had a similar reaction if you had recognized 2D sooner. Although probably a lot less loud. Your friend proceeded to tell him their name and they explained that they came out here looking for you because they were worried, just as you had suspected. Your friend then went on to offer 2D a few drinks and that they would buy but 2D politely declined.

 

“I’ll probably end up wi’f my head in the toilet all night if I have any more, but ‘fanks.” He told them, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his phone. He turned his attention back to you and held his phone out for you to take. At first you thought he wanted you to call someone or something of the sort until he told you to put your name and number in the contacts. You swear your heart skipped a few beats as you hesitantly took his phone and began putting your information in. You even took a picture of your drawing and set it as the contact photo so he would hopefully remember you easier. Once you were finished, you gave his phone back and he asked if he could give you his number as well. You agreed and fumbled around for your own cell phone, handing it over to him. As he typed in his information he quietly mumbled each letter in his name and each digit of his phone number out loud, you hoped your friend didn't hear that, you would hate for his number to be leaked. Once he finished, he returned your phone to you and made you pinky promise to keep in touch, which you had no problem saying yes to.

 

“Right then, I shoul’ probably get home,” he sighed, looking slightly hesitant. You weren't sure if he just enjoyed your presence that much or if he just didn't want to go home and deal with Murdoc, you couldn't blame him for the second thing. Even though you felt a bit disappointed the night was coming to an end, your goal for tonight became making sure he was okay the second you saw him drop to his knees in tears. You closed up your sketchbook and tucked it back underneath your arm, rising to your feet and offering a hand to help him up. He reached for your hand, missing a couple times, before grabbing it and nearly dragging you back down to the ground with him as he lifted himself to his feet. He stumbled and just about fell over if you hadn't grabbed his shoulders to help him balance. 

 

“You alright?” You asked him, mainly just for reassurance. He gave you a smile and stumbled forward into your arms, effectively giving you one of the tightest hugs you've probably ever had in your life. You were almost certain you were going to have a stroke, both from him hugging you and him almost knocking the wind out of you with a single hug. Your friend looked at you smirking from ear to ear, trying to contain their laughter as they teased you by mouthing things such as ‘oooo he likes you’ and ‘touch his butt’. You rolled your eyes and flipped them the bird, smirking back and mouthing ‘fuck off’. Right after, 2D stumbled back and held both of your shoulders for balance, giving you a teary eyed smile as he did earlier.

 

“Sorry, you're jus’ so nice t’ me. I'm no’ used to that sor’ o’ ‘fing.” He said, wiping his eyes. You gave him a sympathetic smile and patted him on the shoulder. You could see your friend mouthing more words at you from the corner of your eye but you ignored their antics for the time being. 

 

“Well, you better get used to it, I pinky promised to keep in touch remember?” You told him holding up your pinky. 

 

“Double pinky promise?” He asked, wrapping his pinky around yours, you giggled and nodded.

 

“Double pinky promise.” 

  
  
  
  


The next morning, you woke up feeling slow and groggy. Last night’s events kept you up well past the time you got home and layed down in bed. You and your friend ended up taking a cab back to 2D’s place to drop him off. Part of the reason was because you wanted to make sure he got home safely without stumbling over on the street somewhere. The other part was because he didn't want to stop talking to you. The whole cab ride to his place he was drunkenly cracking jokes and ranting about anything and everything that popped into his head. From zombie films, to countries he's visited on tour, even going as far as briefly contemplating the universe. All while your friend sat in the passenger’s seat smirking and sending you drunk suggestive text messages about him. He also made you pinky promise to text or call him the next day at least seven more times before he went into his place. 

 

You smiled to yourself remembering how utterly ridiculous he was last night while wiping the sleep from your eyes. You couldn't be mad at him in the slightest though. Who knows how much or how long he had been drinking in that club before meeting you outside. Thank god you only had one drink last night. You heard your phone vibrate from the table beside your bed and rolled over to see who it was. Your screen lit up with messages from your friends, all spamming you about last night. You skimmed through your notifications, rolling your eyes and occasionally chuckling at some of the messages they sent you. Once you reached the bottom of the endless spam you paused and broke into a smile. One notification from 2D was there, you immediately opened the message and couldn't help but laugh to yourself. The message read; 

 

_ “Hello! I think I'm about to black out but I had a lot of fun talking with you tonite. You really know how to cheer someone up! And next time we meet up bring some drawing stuff, yeah? I got loads of ideas -2D  _

_ PS You better reply to me when you get this you pinky promised!!” _

 

You quickly typed a reply and set your phone back down on the table, plopping back down into bed to stare at the ceiling for a bit. You weren’t expecting a reply from him for a while, considering he was most likely extremely hungover today. You decided to go back to sleep for a while since you didn’t have anything important to do. Ironically, you were now happier than ever that your friends decided to drag you out last night. Not everyone gets to meet the people they admire, let alone become friends with them, and you felt so lucky for it to have been him. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted to make this a fic where the reader comforts 2D but it sort of went in another direction. Ope. Also, truthfully I thought it would be amusing if 2D met someone who draws and starts asking them to draw things, so, I hope I did alright! Thanks for reading! m(-u-)m


End file.
